Douglas reached under the table, where the box had rolled, and picked it up. “It’s all right, my dearest; don’t look so worried; the ring isn’t injured, for it is still in the box, see——” he held it before her eyes. “Give me your left hand, dear;” Eleanor shrank slightly away from him, but Douglas was intent in removing the ring from the box and did not notice her agitation. “It is very becoming to your hand,” slipping it on the third finger, “the deep crimson shows off the whiteness of your skin.”
“It’s just lovely.” Eleanor drew a long breath, then raised her head and kissed him tenderly. “Thanks, dear heart, for so beautiful a present. But I am afraid if I wear it to-night our engagement will be a secret no longer.”
“That’s true!” exclaimed Douglas, his voice betraying his disappointment. “Put it back in the box”—holding it out to her.
“I’ll do no such thing”—indignantly. “Take it off, Douglas, and give it to me”; he did so, and she slipped the ring inside the bodice of her low-cut evening gown. “Tell me, dearest, how did you happen to select a ruby?”
"It’s my birthstone”—Douglas colored—“I hope you won’t think me horribly sentimental.”
“I shall not tell you what I think—it might turn your head. Hush! here comes Uncle Dana.”
Thornton strode into the room with outstretched hand. “Welcome to ‘The Nest,’ Douglas; I am sorry I wasn’t downstairs when you came. I hope Eleanor has been doing the honors acceptably.”
“She has, indeed, and proved a host in herself,” laughed Douglas.
“Good; though it’s a mystery how she got down ahead of the others.”